Chains of Fear
by Hawki
Summary: It was the duty of all Imperial citizens to fear and abhor the alien. Fear, in the right hands, could be a powerful tool. In the wrong hands, it could be devastating.
1. Alert

" _Starkan is warned?"_

" _Yes. They are aware."_

" _The plan continues then."_

" _Or begins."_

" _How droll. I'll ensure you'll get your share of the spoils."_

 **Warhammer 40,000: Chains of Fear**

 **Chapter 1: Alert**

Space was empty.

Not completely, empty, he reflected. Stars illuminated the galaxy, and the galaxies outside the Emperor's reach. Worlds orbited those stars, as moons did those worlds, and the detritus of planetary formation circled the systems that those worlds resided in. And throughout the vacuum of space itself, cosmic radiation filled the darkness. Space, in literal terms, was not empty.

But for practical purposes, it was. And that suited Captain Galen Shinnon just fine. He could stare out the viewing port of listening station _Pathe_ , leaning back in his command chair and resting his feet on a cogitator,looking at the stars that lay beyond the Artika system. Stare, let the crew of the listening station do their work, and take solace that for now, he hadn't been reduced to his constituent atoms. Or maimed. Or tortured. Or been subjected to anything that space, in all its "not that emptiness," could throw at humanity.

"Captain."

He glanced towards the source of the voice, one that, unlike the voices of the servitors that manned the _Pathe_ , wasn't robotic. Rather, it was the only voice he conversed with on a regular basis that wasn't in monotone.

"Commander."

Someday, that would change, and the polyphony of human conversation would cease between him and his subordinate, as a silence that mirrored that of space would develop. Whether that day best come sooner or later was something he wasn't sure about.

"The day's report."

He took the data-slate from Commander Sabina Cipcini and glanced at its contents. An electrocution on sub-level 7. A formal reprimand of Petty Officer Pouteria for failing to keep her laspistol in working order. A malfunction in one of the technomats. He grunted and handed the slate back. Malfunctions had made up the bulk of the report, and chances were that the _Pathe_ would destroy itself before xenos would. Emperor knew that they hadn't bothered with Artika for decades.

 _Keep it like that will you?_

The Emperor protected, he supposed, but space, in its emptiness, was doing the job just fine for now.

"Thank you Sir," Cipcini said. She stood straight and began to walk off.

 _Emperor protect me from-_

"Sir?"

 _That._

Shinnon kept his gaze focused on the emptiness of space. He imagined what it would be liked to be cloaked in its entropy to be cut off from the Emperor's divine light. Cold, he supposed, and lethal in all manner of unpleasant ways. But at least silent.

"Captain?"

He glanced back at her. She wasn't young – short black hair, sharp eyes, exceptionally thin, late thirties, he supposed. The Imperial Navy tended to have the very young die quickly, and the lucky few grow to be old men (and a few women), with little in between. But youth didn't always die as age increased.

"Does it bother you?" he asked.

She didn't say anything. But the look on her face said more than any words could.

"Would you prefer it that I stand around all day?" He leant back in his chair even further, to the extent that his boots were hanging off its end. "Do the rounds? Uplift the spirit of those who serve out here?"

"I-"

"Or perhaps I should do something rather than just wait for reports that inform me that Petty Officer Pouteria has the brains of an ork, and servitors are of little better service than the scum they were in their old lives."

Cipcini didn't say anything. She just stood there – it looked like she was trying to stand even straighter.

"How long have you been on this station, Commander?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.

"…two weeks."

"Hmm." He rose to his feet and walked across the command deck. It was arranged like an oval, with servitors manning consoles around its perimeter. He neared the viewport. "Well, I'll tell you what a listening post is good for, and that's two things. One, receiving messages."

"I figured that when I was assigned here."

"And the other is target practice." He glanced at Cipcini. "Yes, we both know it. If a fleet emerged from the Immaterium right here, right now, there's nothing we could do bar send a transmission to Starkan before being blown out of the sky."

Cipcini didn't say anything. He frowned – maybe this really _was_ news to her. But he continued regardless. "So, yes, it's my job to do nothing. Because the Emperor's will demands it." He smirked. "That's fine by me."

The doors to the bridge opened with a clank before Cipcini could react. Shinnon turned to its source – a servitor. For a moment, he was afraid of another malfunction, that machine would rise up against Man, and that the _Pathe_ would need a new captain. But it was a fear that was unjustified, as the fusion of flesh and steel handed him another data-slate. Shinnon frowned. The servitor stared at him blankly.

"What is this?"

"From. As. Tro. Path," it said, its voice slow and dreary as ever.

 _The astropath?_ The _Pathe_ had an astropath on board, but a message would mean the psyker actually had something to say. Shinnon ran his eyes over the astropath's ramblings and frowned.

"Sir?" Cipcini asked, walking over. "What is it?"

He glanced at his XO. He glanced out at space. And felt, for the first time in a long time, something that felt different. Something that felt like fear.

Space, he reflected, didn't feel so empty right now.

* * *

The shrap-shot pressed against Maria's shoulder. It was heavy, it made her shoulder ache, and she would have liked nothing more to engage the safety, sling the weapon over her back, and call it a day. Still, that would have presented a few problems. First, it would mean returning to Artin without her quarry. Secondly, her quarry was a grox that had snatched numerous eidouns and mauled several townsfolk and farmers. Thirdly, being the best tracker in Artin, she was on the beast's trail, and turning back now would have made today's efforts a waste of time.

"Emperor's arse, I thought you knew what you were doing."

She gave a look at her brother, bringing up the rear, carrying around an autogun like a bloody ogryn. Fourth problem – she wasn't going to turn back and let her brother rub it in. She was the elder of the Liao siblings. The more responsible one. The _better_ one. The one with a rifle that was effective for up to three-hundred metres, while her brother was equipped with an automatic weapon that would just as likely hit an innocent bystander as their prey. Also a hunting knife stuck in her belt as well.

"I do know what I'm doing," Maria hissed, as they made their way through the karak field. She pointed down to the grox's footprints in the mud below them. "We're on its trail."

"Huh." Aidan shrugged. "And we're not taking the rover because…?"

"Because I said so."

"Right. Of course."

Gritting her teeth, Maria kept on moving. The karak had long since withered – she didn't know who owned this property, but as they'd driven their rover down the road, she'd spotted the grox footprints on the side of it, heading through the field that they now made their way through. Starkan didn't keep many grox, and this little incident was testament as to why. Grox were hardy, and every part of their body had some use to humans. They were also like orks, brazenly attacking any other creature in sight. So if you _were_ going to keep grox, you'd be of sound mind to keep them in isolation, and/or lobotomize them. This grox apparently had been subjected to neither. If she had to guess, it had slipped through the cracks due to the rebellion of two winters past. The same rebellion that had cost them the rest of their family.

"Come on," Aidan moaned. "It's cold."

"It's autumn. Of course it's cold."

"Fine, let me put it this way – _I'm_ cold."

"One more word and you'll be cold for the rest of your life."

"I...oh." Aidan sighed. "Forget it."

Maria kept moving. The karak hadn't just withered, it stank. Winter would be upon Starkan soon, and food was rarely at a premium on this planet – at least not after it was handed over to the Imperium to cover the world's tithes. She gritted her teeth, thinking of how many mouths that could have been fed with the karak, had it been harvested in the spring like it was meant to. How many people would die in the coming winter, she wondered? Far less than during the rebellion she supposed, but-

"Oh."

It was Aidan who spoke, and, as they emerged from the karak field, and beheld an open grazing area, she was struck by the source of the exclamation. The grox. Also a farm house behind it, but first things first, namely the grox. A four-legged reptilian beast that could kill her with its claws, its fangs, or its horns. Just like the horse in the field that it was now tearing into, its teeth and horns stained with its blood. She could only hope that its death had been quick. She flexed her shoulders before returning the shrap-shot to a firing position. She could also only hope that the grox's death would be quick. If not, she was at risk of joining the horse.

"So," Aidan said. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Be quiet for starters," Maria said. "And get ready to fire."

"Seriously?" he hissed.

She sighed, and lined up her sights. "I'm going to fire the shrap-shot. It'll send a single round that fragments into shrapnel, hitting the grox in a dozen places. If I hit it right, it'll be winded enough for me to keep firing until it succumbs to blood loss or trauma."

"And if you don't do it right?"

"Then chances are it'll charge, and you'll have to open fire as well."

To his credit, Aidan didn't say anything. They both understood that autoguns were reliable, if lacking in accuracy.

So, Maria lined up her sights, spying the ugly creature through the shrap-shot's eyepiece. Its face was an ugly mix of green scales and red blood. For a moment, she imagined it as being an ork, but quickly stopped. Grox were bad enough. She didn't want to think of xenos being on this world.

So she fired. Less than a second later, lead fragments tore into the grox's hide, causing the creature to let out a roar. She smiled grimly as she saw blood pour out from its hide. She pulled back the bolt of her rifle and loaded the next round, firing it. Another clean hit. Only one more, and-

 _No._

The bolt was jammed. The next round wouldn't load.

 _Shit._

She pulled again. No luck.

"Shit!"

The grox roared, and though wounded, began to charge. Aidan looked at her. "Sis?"

"Shit!" she repeated.

She fiddled with the bolt, praying to the Emperor, to the rifle's machine spirit, to fate itself, that it would work. That she wasn't going to die because a bloody round wouldn't load correctly.

"Emperor damn it!"

The grox drew closer. She stumbled back, heart racing, forehead sweating. She let out a yell as the creature drew near…

…and winced as Aidan began firing, the auto rounds tearing into the creature. Blood poured out from scales. It was wounded. It would soon be dead. So would she. She yelled, covering her eyes…

And nothing happened. All that remained was silence, and her heavy breathing. Opening her eyes, she saw Aidan standing above her, his autogun smoking, his eyes wide. The grox was before him, lying on the ground, motionless.

"Maria?" he asked.

She got to her feet. She opened her mouth. The grox moved, trying to bite Aidan's leg, and-

"Get back!"

…and she stuck her knife into its throat, tearing through its muscle. It twitched, blood pouring onto the soil, letting out a final gasp of life as death took the beast. Now, she reflected, it was dead.

"Thanks a lot," she murmured, tossing her shrap-shot into the ground. Before the day was done she'd retrieve it, but for now, she wanted to show the gun's machine spirit that she was pissed. That her brother had saved her only added salt to the wound.

"Aidan?" she asked.

He just stood there, the gun still in his shaking hands.

"Aidan, are you alright?"

"Hmm?" he asked. "Oh. Yeah. Sure." He trailed off. "I mean-"

She snatched the autogun from his hands. She didn't want her brother to hold a loaded weapon right now. But as she pulled out the clip, she discovered it was a moot point – it was empty.

"Nice shooting, by the way," she said.

"Oh. Right."

She gave him a slight smile, a pat on the shoulder, and returned the autogun to him. "Don't worry Brother. First one's always the hardest."

He nodded, and the smile faded. The 'first one.' At twenty and eighteen years respectively, neither of them could have been called children. People much younger could be conscripted into one of the many branches of the Imperium. Still, those two years could make a sector of difference. The difference that involved her seeing death two years ago, and Aidan only seeing the aftermath of it.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get this thing back to the rover."

Aidan didn't answer. Instead, he began walking out into the field. At first she wondered if he was headed for the horse, but no, it wasn't that. He was walking to the burnt out farmhouse instead.

"Aidan?" she asked.

He didn't answer, so she walked over to him. His gaze didn't waver, instead remaining on the homestead. Two stories, wood and brick, a smouldering ruin.

"Who do you think lived here?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Think it was the rebels?"

"Maybe." She didn't know, and she didn't care. Some dead person had lived here, possibly in a period in her life when lots of people died, in a galaxy where xenos slaughtered millions of the Emperor's subjects. She couldn't care about one farmer that she'd never met.

"Do you think we-"

"Aidan," she said firmly, "it doesn't matter." He looked at her. "The farmer's dead. The grox is dead. We're alive. Be happy with that." She patted him on the shoulder. "You on board?"

"Yeah…yeah, sure," he said. He forced a smile. "Horse is dead too, by the way."

"Tragic," she murmured, forcing a smile. "Can you eat horse? I mean, I know you can ride them, but…"

She trailed off, and began to laugh. A moment later, so did her brother.

Fear, she reflected, was a beast stranger than any grox.

* * *

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Saint Nega is said to be the Patron Saint of Mercy, right?"

"More or less."

"Well, Sister Lynne said that while a heretic could be forgiven, a traitor could never be."

"Such are the edicts of the Emperor."

"But didn't Saint Nega forgive the rebels of ages past? What about the last rebellion? If we're meant to follow the teachings of Saint Nega, why didn't they get mercy?"

Cassius Dac kept walking, holding an eidoun sandwich in one hand, and the palm of his five year old son in the other. They'd just exited the service held in the Shrine of Saint Nega, milling about with all the other families of Reltoyla. A statue of the saint herself was in front of the shrine, casting her bronze gaze upon the people of Starkan. A gaze of firm kindness, as Cassius's father had called it, and how he in turn described it to his children. He took a bite out of the sandwich, thinking of the fat, flightless little critters kept on farms that eidouns were, and not the subject at hand.

"Dad?"

"That was two millennia ago," he said, his son having forced the subject, and forcing him to talk with his mouth full. "The rebellion of two winters ago was different."

"How?"

"It…" He sighed, swallowing the eidoun meat. "It just was."

"How?" Octavian repeated.

Cassius let out another sigh – Octavian was only five. Too full of questions, too full of self-independence, not knowledgeable enough to understand that an open mind was like an unguarded fortress, that the most important virtue in life was faith in the Emperor. Not yet at a level of understanding to accept that the story of Saint Nega was likely more fable than fact.

"Have you got next week's readings from Sister Lynne?" he asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Good. I'll help you if you like."

Octavian didn't say anything, but a glance down at his son told Cassius that Octavian wasn't satisfied. He glanced over at Jocasta, his wife of eleven years, talking with Mr and Mrs Molva, holding onto Portia as she did so. Portia, at least, seemed happy. He watched as Octavian kicked a pebble across the square.

"Don't do that."

"Why?"

"Just don't."

"Don't ask questions, don't kick, you always say-"

"Octavian!" he snapped.

"You're no fun! You're always playing soldier!"

"Octavian, be quiet."

"No! You-"

"I said be quiet!"

He rose a hand, and almost slapped him, but held back. Octavian's words had cut through him, but there was no reason to draw blood in turn. And yet, Octavian saw the motion. Cassius in turn saw his eyes widen, saw his lip tremor. Saw him run over to his mother.

 _Emperor help me._

He couldn't count on that happening, no matter how hard he prayed in the shrine. He glanced up at the structure – a two storey edifice that towered over the capital's hab units, but was paltry when compared to the great works of cardinal worlds. He shifted his gaze to Saint Nega herself, her gaze forever downward. Forever merciful.

 _Can you help me?_

Forever silent.

He knew the stories about Saint Nega. She had been a sister of the Orders Hospitaller, who, two millennia ago, had treated the soldiers of another rebellion, who had risen up against Governor Lucinda. It was said that her mercy had convinced the insurgents of their heresy, and through her kindness, had once more embraced the light of the Emperor. Nega herself remained a shining example of faith, and how even the faithless could earn respite. Cassius wasn't sure what to make of the account – the Emperor's word was writ, but Nega's story had been taken down by mere mortals, men and women no different from himself.

 _And what of the last rebellion?_

It had been two years prior. A rebellion that had sprung up from within Starkan's Planetary Defence Force, disgruntled with imperial rule, and been put down by loyalists from the same organization, with the help of the Arbites. The rebels hadn't offered any mercy to the loyalists during their bid to overthrow the governor. Even if he'd been inclined to give mercy himself, circumstance and the chain of command wouldn't have allowed it. The rebels were traitors. There could never be any mercy for a traitor.

"Cassius?"

Mercy for his son for running to his mother? He could manage that.

"Octavian says you're being mean to him."

Maybe.

"Well?"

"Octavian is being Octavian," he said. He took a bite of the eidoun sandwich, watching as his two offspring played with the other children. "He'll learn."

"If his father teaches him." Jocasta sighed. "Sometimes I worry that-"

"Jocasta,"

"I know, I know," she said, forcing a smile. "You're in the PDF. You keep the roof over our head. You had to do…things, two years ago. But-"

"Do you have a point?" he snapped.

Jocasta sighed. "No. I guess not. I just…"

Cassius turned away from her. He didn't need this. He had one day off per week, and he wasn't going to waste time bickering over trivial matters.

He supposed he should be grateful though. The worst Starkan had faced in his lifetime was a rebellion. As everyone from heretics to xenos sought to sully the works of the Emperor, he could be counted as getting off quite easy.

"Dad, Octavian hit me!"

Or not.

* * *

It was called the governor's palace. In reality, it was more akin to a governor's residence.

Situated in the centre of Starkan's capital city, the "palace" was a two story building surrounded by an iron-fence patrolled by members of Skartan's Planetary Defence Force. Above them all flew the flag of the Double Eagle, reminding anyone who gazed upon the "palace" that they were denizens of the Imperium of Man. That out here, in the Akarat sector of Segmentum Ultima, they still owed their loyalty to Terra, and to the one who watched them all from Earth.

A reminder that didn't distract anyone from the fact that it wasn't a palace, that an iron-fence wasn't a fortification, that Terra was tens of thousands of light-years away, and for all intents and purposes, Starkan might as well not exist as a world of the Imperium. Which, at times, was a matter of irritation for Lord Hector Tiberius.

But not today. Today, he had his back to the wider world of Starkan, his eyes on his desk's cogitator, and his ears towards Ordinate Gollan.

"Protests against tithe increase in Fidelia, twenty-three injured, five dead. Flash floods in Ahn, two-thousand and five dead. Production of castellon estimated at only sixteen percent reduction. Forecast rebound in-"

He continued working at the cognitor. For Gollan, it was his job – the job of everyone in the Administratum, to make sure that the worlds of the Imperium continued to function. For the governor himself, it was a reminder that a world existed outside his "palace," and his world was but one of a million, with a million more problems and intricacies existing on his planet alone.

"Investigation of the Sect of the Weeping Flower has concluded that its beliefs do not coincide with that of the Lex Imperialis. Official Scotia awaiting clearance for-"

The doors to his office burst open, and Hector looked up at the trio of men that looked down on him. One of them he recognised as General Buren – commander of Starkan's PDF. The other two he didn't recognise, but were likely members of the general's staff.

"Lord Governor," Buren said.

Gollan had fallen silent. And Tiberius smiled grimly.

"General," he said. "I hope this isn't another coup."

He briefly glanced out towards the lawn of his residence, the iron bars looking less like something to keep people out, and more something to keep him in. Autumn mist hung in the air - a prelude to winter, and therefore, a prelude to all the shit that Starkan would throw at him as people dealt with the hardship of the season. Only two winters ago had some dissidents tried to overthrow him. Only two winters ago had Buren's PDF executed the rebels to a man. Or so they hoped, at least – rumours existed of some rebels having turned to banditry out in the provinces.

"A coup?" Buren said. "No. Not today at least."

"But tomorrow is another day?"

"Tomorrow is twenty-six hours away," Buren said. He smiled, but Tiberius could see past it. Could understand that the banter was but formality, and that while Buren hadn't come to kill him, he was still the bringer of bad news.

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries General."

To his credit, Buren didn't hesitate. He took a piece of parchment from one of his aides and handed it over the desk. Tiberius took it in hand.

"A transcript from listening station _Pathe_ ," Buren said. "We received it via vox only a few hours ago."

Hector nodded. The transcript was a word for word account of what the _Pathe_ 's astropath had uttered. And reading it, fighting the tremor in his hands, he realized that planetary rebellion was the least of his concerns. In fact, death by planetary rebellion or coup was looking very appealing.

"The Dark Eldar," Buren said. "They're going to attack Starkan.

Tiberius leant back in his desk and closed his eyes. Xenos. A rebellion two years ago, and now xenos. All he could do was put on a show of irritation.

And fool Buren into not realizing that right now, he, Hector Tiberius, planetary governor of Starkan, was absolutely terrified.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _So, there's a bit of a story behind this...well, story, so I'll indulge myself and spill the beans. Basically, this was originally conceived as a story for a Black Library competition years ago, where writers had to submit a story with the theme of "Fear the Alien." I never actually got round to writing it, but decided to go back, revive the concept, and try to make it work. Key word is "try" though - I'll be honest, after about seven months of writing and rewriting (not including the original outline), I can't say I feel the story works. The Maria plot-line was developed based on writer feedback that the story needed more action. Cipcini was added because I realized, as I began writing it, that my younger self hadn't included a single female character. Space Marines were meant to show up, but I realized that they didn't mesh with the structure. And there's the issue of tone, and concept, and...well, yeah._

 _Still, only four chapters and an epilogue, so this is kind of me throwing in the towel, but hopefully something good can come out of it._

 _Edit: Tried re-uploading the story, as over a 24 hour period, it failed to be listed in the_ Warhammer _section, or generate an email alert._


	2. Distress

" _They prepare for war, such as it is."_

" _Their civilization is built on war. How else could they react?"_

" _Mewl like children? Hide in the dark?"_

" _The dark is our domain. And even children will fight if a sword is placed in their hands."_

" _Fear is a powerful motivator. Don't we all know it?"_

 **Warhammer 40,000: Chains of Fear**

 **Chapter 2: Distress**

Gollan was taking minutes.

In a world where the Emperor's light grew dimmer, it was the one piece of comfort Tiberius could take from the situation. Starkan was going to be attacked by Dark Eldar – depraved xenos who, if they were feeling merciful, would just slaughter you and your fellow human beings down to the last child. An entire race of pirates, spawned from the darkest pits of the void. Enough to give those in the war chamber pause, even in the knowledge that they were in the under-level of the governor's palace, and by extension, the most secure place on the planet. Ministers and officers talked, bickered, and sometimes did both. They talked loudly, increased their volume in a bid to get their points across, voices echoing across the granite walls, General Buren would get everyone to shut up listen for a few minutes, and the cycle would begin anew.

And through it all, in silent servitude, Gollan was taking minutes. That, at least, was a semblance of normality.

"Enough!"

So was Buren's outburst, causing every minister, Arbites officer, and PDF subordinate to stop, look up, and listen. Buren wasn't a tall man, or particularly physically intimidating, but he could throw his voice, and throw it well.

"This is inane," the general said, and Tiberius could see a fire in his eyes as he looked across the round war table, one wide enough to seat up to twenty people. "The alien is at our door, and we're acting like children."

"But are the xenos at our door? All we have is-"

"A transmission from the _Pathe_ , passed onto us from _Pilgrim's Pride_."

Waldau, the minister of agriculture, scoffed. "And we trust the word of rogue traders?"

"I trust that the Dark Eldar who attacked their ship thought just as low of them. That they did not expect to be repelled, or taken captive, or tortured." Buren smiled grimly. "Xenos still have tongues. They talked long enough to inform us of a kabal's plan to invade Starkan."

 _If 'invade' is really the word to use_ , Tiberius reflected.

"And where is _Pilgrim's Pride_ now?" asked Marshal Azzopardi, the commander of all Arbites on Starkan. "What are those criminals doing now that they have sounded the trumpet?"

"I suspect what criminals and pirates do best," Buren answered.

"You suspect? I thought the great General Buren of the stalwart defenders of our planet could give us more than just suspicions."

Tiberius sighed. He'd expected this. There'd been tension between Buren and Azzopardi ever since the anarchy that had plagued Starkan two years prior. It was the PDF who had put the rebellion down, but it was from the PDF that a sizable number of dissidents had sprouted. The Arbites had fought, and bled, and died. And even in the midst of an alien invasion, it was clear that Azzopardi wasn't going to let Buren forget it.

"We can't trace the ship," Buren answered. "They may care enough about Starkan to ensure that this world remains a hub to sell their wares. But to expect a rogue trader to come to our aid? You place too much faith in humanity."

"Do not presume to lecture me on faith."

"If you agree to not lecture me on how to do my job."

Tiberius smiled – three minutes. Buren had kept the room silent for a three whole minutes. That had to be a record.

"The PDF has begun fortifying the capital," Buren continued. "With the governor's permission, I would like to withdraw the people of outlying settlements to the capital as well, or failing that, assign them to defensible hubs."

"A retreat?" asked Polaki, the minster of infrastructure. "You would leave our homes undefended?"

"The Dark Eldar come for us far more than our wares. They're like any predatory animal, going for the kill unless the prey is clustered too close together."

"One might say that would make the prey easier to corral."

"And I would say that as minister of infrastructure, you should focus on rebuilding our world after we're done defending it. Because defending it is the job the Emperor has given me."

"I gave you the job, actually," Tiberius said. He rose to his feet, placing his hands in his pockets – he did not wish for those around him to see their sweat, or their shaking. "But General Buren has my permission to oversee our defences as he sees fit."

"You trust him?" Azzopardi scoffed.

"I trust him to point his lasgun in the right direction when the Dark Eldar arrive."

Buren smiled. Tiberius did not. He didn't disapprove of the general's plan. In fact, given what he knew of the Dark Eldar, it was probably the best plan he could have come up with. Even so, he would have preferred to be forewarned about the plan before it was presented in this council.

 _And you took down every word, didn't you?_ Tiberius wondered, sparing a glance at Gollan, the ordinate still scribbling away, his parchment all rolled up at his feet. _Well, good. Though words only tell so much._

Buren continued talking, and Tiberius rubbed his hands together. How could he do it, he wondered? How could Buren talk so calmly in the knowledge that xenos were at their door? He commanded a Planetary Defence Force of 10,000 men – possibly enough to defend a city, hardly enough to defend a planet. How could he be so _calm_? How could he…

 _Emperor help me._

The Emperor was tens of thousands of light years away, he reminded himself. The Emperor would save his soul, but out here, whether he could save his body from being maimed was another matter. Fear, he reflected. Fear was keeping his hands in his pockets, keeping his voice low. Fear was something that his ministers were showing, as they hung on Buren's word. Gone was their defiance and bickering. Even Azzopardi had fallen silent. But as he watched a hologram of Starkan appear on the table, as Buren began giving a speech on troop movements, and evacuation plans, and Emperor knew what else, he-

"We need help."

He'd had enough. He rose to his feet once more. From the glare Buren gave him, he could tell that the general resented being interrupted.

"We need to request aid."

And Buren was welcome to resent him for that.

"Request aid," Buren murmured. "Is that necessary?"

Some of the ministers stirred. Buren's staff remained silent.

"We're faced with alien attack," Tiberius said. "And all due respect to the PDF, they are, but…well…"

"Go on," Buren said, eyes narrowed.

"PDF," Tiberius said. "Our first line of defence. Right now, our only line of defence."

"We know the Dark Eldar will attack," Buren said. "We can be prepared for them. If every planet in the Imperium cried out for aid at the prospect of xenos launching an assault, no aid could be provided at all."

"I'm aware of that," Tiberius said. "But that's my point. We know the Dark Eldar will attack, and soon. We can have aid here in time for that, to end the fight before it begins." Buren opened his mouth but Tiberius beat him to it. "I am aware of the laws of the Imperium, that a governor should only request aid when the need is dire. But surely you can see the opportunity that has presented itself to us."

He looked around the room, at the gathering of "you" present. Ministers. Officers. Officials. All of whom looked to him. Many of whom were nodding. Some of whom could not hide the look in their eye. Aliens were coming. Why not ask for help? Why not request others to fight for them, so their sons and daughters did not have to? Loyalty, fear, practicality, the motivations all led to the same desire.

"This is a waste," Buren said. "We-"

"I motion that we petition aid from the Imperial Navy," Tiberius said. He looked at Buren. "You have command over the ground. The sky, however, is closer to my dominion than yours."

"Hear hear," came a cacophony of voices. Enough to show Buren that he couldn't fight against the tide. The slump in his shoulders, the look in his eye. Tiberius smiled.

"The sky is your dominion," the general said. "Just don't keep your head in the clouds for too long."

* * *

"Stop marching Commander, you're not on parade."

Cipcini glanced at Shinnon, stopped moving, then turned her gaze out to the void of space. For a few moments, she held herself there. Then, a moment after that, she returned to treating the bridge of the _Pathe_ as a drill ground.

 _Oh for goodness sake._

Shinnon got to his feet and walked over, arm outstretched.

"Don't tell me to stop moving."

Cipcini had stopped again, in spite of her words, even though Shinnon could tell that she was as jumpy as an azenha. He glanced around at the bridge, the servitors doing their jobs, as was their want. He returned his gaze to Cipcini – one ankle was twisted around the other. Her hands were in her pockets, and her body swayed from side to side.

"You need orders," Shinnon said.

"What?"

"Something to get your mind off the fact that we're fragged." He turned around and returned to his command chair. "Be at ease commander, I'm sure there's something on this piece of flotsam that requires your attention."

"Sir, I'm not just some token XO."

"Course you are. Same way I'm a token captain."

"Sir!"

He sighed, and looked up at her. The agitation was there, but now it was laced with outright aggression. Enough to fool him just for a second that she wasn't scared shitless.

"What do you want of me Commander?"

"I want…" She bit her lip. "I'd like, maybe, a little…drive."

"Drive?"

"Yes, drive. Something to show that you at least have the spine to pretend to care that xenos are bearing down on us."

"Why?" He leant forward. "For whose sake? These automatons?" He clicked his fingers in a servitor's direction, the servitor not reacting at all. "I'm sure the Machine God is keeping them company."

"Captain-"

"Or is it for your sake?" he continued. "Because like I said, I _can_ find you something to do, if you want your mind taken off the upcoming slaughter."

"While you do nothing."

"While I do nothing," he repeated, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. "Maybe it hasn't occurred to you that's all I _can_ do."

She didn't answer. She stood there, he sat there, and the servitors of the bridge continued their eternal service. Or at least for as long as eternity could provide.

"Thought I made this clear," Shinnon murmured, as he closed his eyes. "The _Pathe_ is a listening post, and a poorly defended one at that. Of course, the Dark Eldar being the pirates that they are, won't have the decency to atomize us, they'll actually board the ship, kidnap us, torture us, and then, if we're lucky, let us die." He opened them again – he didn't want images of those aliens filling his vision. "You _do_ know about the Dark Eldar, correct?"

"Of course," Cipcini nodded.

"Have you fought them?"

She shook her head.

"Well, I have. As a lieutenant commander aboard the _Imperial Dawn_." He sighed – he wasn't in the mood to reminisce, but that was still better than Cipcini treating him like some kind of lout. "An _Invincible_ -class battleship." He laughed. "Invincible."

"Did they…did they attack?"

"No, of course not." He let out a laugh. "Didn't you hear that it was 'invincible?' No. They ran rings around us through the entire Jordanita system, picking off one evacuation ship after another. That's how they operate. They take out the weakest, avoid any confrontation with an enemy that has superior firepower, and if they break that rule, you can bet they're going to try and avoid receiving as much of that firepower as possible." He leant forward. "So yes, I'm doing nothing. Because I'm faced with the prospect of the xenos paying attention to the _Pathe_ or not. If they do, we're not as good as dead, but will wish we were. And if they don't, well, lucky us. If you think the Imperium is going to miss Starkan if it falls, you've got a lot to learn about the universe."

Cipcini stood there for a moment. Eventually, she asked, "aren't you angry?"

"What?"

"These aliens. The ones who take our people, who blaspheme against the Emperor, who sully His creation with their presence. Surely you would want to prepare yourself as much as possible to deal with them. To maintain His light as the dark reaches out for us. Surely you'd want to do that."

"No," Shinnon said. "I wouldn't. Not anymore than resorting to trite platitudes."

Cipcini's eyes gave an icy flash. "Then it's no mystery that you're here, and not on an actual ship."

Shinnon remained seated, even as a servitor rolled up to him. The gall, he reflected. Here two weeks, and she was dared presumed to tell him how to…how to…

"Cap. Tain?"

He glanced at the servitor. "Yes?"

"Or. Ders. From. Plan. Et."

"Wonderful," he mused. But then he took the data-slate and smiled. It had been sent by vox, to be given to his astropath. And the request it gave was most appealing.

"What is it?" Cipcini asked, walking over. "What does it say?"

Shinnon smirked. "You were talking about ships earlier, Commander? About the Imperial Navy?"

She stared at him.

"Well, looks like Governor Tiberius is in the mood for some of those ships to be summoned to the Artika system." He rose to his feet and patted her on the shoulder. "I have an appointment with our astropath. Feel free to use the bridge as a drill ground in my absence."

* * *

It was early morning in Artin, and something was wrong.

Maria had turned in as soon as she'd dumped the carcass at Conus's the day prior, picked up some bigornias in return, and gone to sleep. Now, the town was abuzz with activity. Far more so than usual, and not the kind of activity that made her feel at ease. Artin had a population of about 196 souls. Right now, standing outside her hab unit, looking out over the dusty streets, she was seeing all of them at the same time. Watching how they moved. How they glanced at each other. How they remained silent. She watched as Dorin, her neighbour from the adjacent hab unit, exited his abode and began heading out.

"Hey," she called out to him. "What's going on?"

"Maria?" he asked.

"Yes, me, Maria," she responded curtly. "What's happening?"

"I dunno," he said. "Some kind of announcement in the town square. Cinna wants the whole town to come."

"Cinna?" she exclaimed.

"Didn't you hear the vox?" he asked.

"I was sleeping," she said. She swallowed. "You…did say Cinna, right?"

"Do you know another Cinna?"

"No," she murmured.

"Well, until we get another Cinna, we have to take what the Emperor provides." He gave her a small wave and walked briskly up the street while Maria just stood there, frozen in place. Like someone had put an icicle down her back and drilled it into the ground, the chill spreading into her spine, and keeping her rooted to the spot.

"Morning," she heard a voice behind her say. "You're up early."

She glanced at Aidan. He'd gone to bed after her, and somehow, he looked even more refreshed. He'd barely said a word on the way back to Artin, and now…

"Huh. Everyone's up early."

…and now he couldn't stop talking.

"So, anyway, I was thinking-"

"Come on," Maria said. "There's a meeting in the town square."

"A meeting? Can't we-"

"Cinna called it."

Aidan turned as pale as the proverbial icicle that was supposedly down her back. "Cinna?" he whispered. "You…you sure?"

"Well, Dorin's sure, and I trust him. I also trust that everyone needs to be somewhere in a hurry, and who better than Cinna to crack the whip?"

"Who better than Cinna to put a bullet in-"

"Come on," Maria said. "Get dressed. Cinna's psychopathic enough, we don't need to give him due cause."

"Due cause my arse."

Nonetheless, Aidan obliged, as did Maria. They'd changed into day clothes in three minutes. They arrived at the town square seven minutes after that. Nearly two-hundred people stood around the podium, once presided over by Adept Grenfell. Now, only one man would dare stand there. Only one man could keep the people of Artin in line, even though they didn't need keeping in line at all, Maria reflected. All they…or at least _she_ , wanted, was to live, to serve, to worship the Emperor in the knowledge that He protected her, and would bring her to His side when she departed this world. But for someone like Cinna, that wasn't enough. For someone like Cinna, just wanting to live would be laxity, or sloth, or some other sin. For someone like Cinna…

She averted her gaze as she watched the man take the podium. Someone like Cinna was the price Artin had paid for daring to have an adept who'd thrown in his lot with the rebels. She and everyone else had watched his execution at this very spot two years ago, pleading for his life, before Cinna had put a bolt through his forehead, his blood joining that of the guilty and innocent. Now, Arbitrator Cinna, officer of the Adeptus Arbites and de facto head official for the town of Artin, was unto a god. Not demanding worship per se, but still demanding fear and respect. And not afraid to deal with anyone who stepped out of line, often through painful means.

"At ease, citizens."

Sometimes through lethal ones.

"Notice is as follows," the arbitrator began. "An immediate xenos attack is expected on Starkan. By order of Governor Tiberius, all citizens are ordered to head to Reltoyla."

"Reltoyla?"

"Xenos?"

"That's thousands of miles away, we-"

"Artin is to be emptied within the hour," Cinna continued, his voice blaring out over the vox above the protests of the townsfolk. "The governor demands, and I shall enforce his decree." He leaned out over the podium. "No exceptions. Dissent will not be tolerated. One hour, we shall meet outside the town chapel. All vehicles are to be commandeered. We shall then move as a group towards the capital."

There were no questions this time, yet Maria, at least, had them. She glared at Cinna as he walked down from the podium. She couldn't do anything – even with her shrap-shot, his carapace armour would absorb the shots, and she'd be dead with a single round from his bolt pistol. Adeptus Arbites were supposedly keepers of the peace. Far as she was concerned, peace had ended two years ago, and Cinna had ensured it never returned.

 _So, xenos,_ she reflected, as the crowd began to generate the buzz of panicked conversation. _You couldn't tell us what kind, Cinna? Orks? Rak'gol? Any idea when they'll arrive?_

"Sis?"

She looked at Aidan. He looked tired. Very tired.

"Are we…y'know…"

"What?" she asked.

"I mean…"

"We're going to do what Cinna says," she said. "So that means heading home, getting the essentials, and meeting at the chapel." She forced a smile. "Think you'll agree that our guns count as essential, right?"

Aidan nodded. He turned away silently, and began walking off. No help, no response, she'd probably have to pack some spare clothes for him. Frowning, she clenched her fists, and followed after him.

Her fists being clenched didn't stop them from shaking though.

* * *

"Trenches. It would be fragging trenches. Hey, why not dig out a sewer while we're at it?"

"One more word Private, and you'll be in a sewer for the rest of your miserable life."

"And how long is that, eh? You think fragging aliens are going to let me live that long?"

"Longer than me right now."

"Then why don't you-"

Lieutenant Cassius Dac watched as Sergeant Berdejo kneed Private Enright in the groin, bringing the altercation to a quick and painful end. The nearby troopers chortled before returning to the task of digging trenches, raising barbed wire, and all other means of setting up a perimeter around Starkan's capital. A static defence, bringing with it all the firepower Starkan's PDF had to bear. Only hours ago had they heard Governor Tiberius's relocation order over the vox. A few hours after that, the refugees had begun flooding in, giving the PDF the joint-task of assigning habitation, while also ensuring that said habitation could be defended. Provided that scenes like this didn't tear the PDF apart first.

"That's enough," Cassius said. He was standing above the trench, overlooking the surrounding farmland that Reltoyla cut deeper into every year. "You want to fight, fine. Just save it for the xenos."

"Easy for you to say L.T., xenos don't have balls."

Well, Private Enright was certainly taking the ball busting better than he could have hoped for.

"Aren't eldar like us though?" piped up Private Prix. "Like…would they have balls?"

"Kill one of them, you have my permission to find out," Cassius said. He kicked some dirt down into the trench. "But for now, dig. Or I'll have the sergeant do some more ball busting."

The platoon fell silent, and Cassius returned his gaze to the field. They were in the second trench line, located on the city's perimeter. For decades, urban sprawl had been cutting into the surrounding farmland, but now, the fortifications were finishing the job. Water traps had become trenches. Farmhouses command posts. The autumn crops had been harvested early. All in the hope that the fight would last a short enough period of time that they wouldn't starve.

"It's Dark Eldar we're up against, technically."

Cassius glanced at Berdejo, as she climbed out of the trench to behold the view of barbed wire, dirt, and more dirt. She was easily the largest member of his platoon, a walking bulk of muscle attached to two legs. It made the job of ball busting all the easier for her.

"Think that matters?" he asked.

"Might matter to the men, if they knew the difference."

"They're aliens," Cassius murmured. "Do you think the Emperor cares if one group of xenos is slightly less depraved than the other?"

"The Emperor? No. The people fighting those aliens? Maybe. We tell children stories about orks rather than jokaero after all. Least we do when we want them to behave."

Cassius remained silent. Berjedo was great with keeping the squad in line. Unfortunately, her same bluntness sometimes carried on into casual conversation.

"How's the family?"

Case in point. Cassius remained silent, and kept his gaze on the horizon. He could see another convoy making its way down the main highway.

"Sir?"

He let out a sigh. "They're coping."

"Coping?"

"Jocasta understood, Portia cried, and Octavian said that he hated me. They kept saying that right up to when they were turned over to Sister Lynne."

"I hear the Shrine of Saint Nega is being fortified as well." Berjedo hesitated. "Y'know, you could request-"

"No," Cassius said. He looked at her, before gesturing to the troopers. "How many of them have families? How many of them would want to be with them right now?"

"Most, I suppose."

"Right. So what does it say if I request for a transfer to be closer to my own family?" Cassius didn't let her answer. "Nothing good. So I'll stay out here, piss and shit in the dirt, watch them freeze, and keep my lasgun close. And when this is over, I'll get home, and do what fathers are meant to do." He smiled faintly. "That's another war in of itself."

"I'll take your word for it." Berjedo looked like she wanted to say something else. But by this point two of the troopers were in a scuffle, and she had to head back into the trench, yank a shovel away, and use it in a different manner.

Cassius remained standing. He trusted the sergeant to maintain order. All he could do right now was to be a less boisterous example. To show the men there was nothing to fear. To continue his service to the Emperor.

"Now if I hear one more word out of you, I'll string you up, feed you to a grox, and-"

However difficult that could be.


	3. Reaction

" _They have departed Tomina?"_

" _Yes. The sights are lined, the rifles locked. It remains true in space."_

" _At the targets they anticipate."_

" _They follow their corpse god. They anticipate what he does."_

" _Blood and fire. The only certainties that remain."_

 **Warhammer 40,000: Chains of Fear**

 **Chapter 3: Reaction**

"I suppose it's occurred to you that if you did a better job at Jordanita you might not be here?"

Shinnon didn't answer. He was spending so much effort trying to ignore Cipcini that responding was out of the question.

"I mean, sure, the Dark Eldar ran rings around you, but they're still aliens. They're inferior life-forms by their nature."

Was this a contradiction in terms, he wondered? He was expending effort in ignoring her, yet by virtue of said effort, was in fact not ignoring her, but acknowledging her by virtue of the effort put into such inactivity.

"But hey, what would I know? I'm just the XO."

Questions best left to saints and philosophers, he supposed. Men and women far more intelligent than he, able to plumb the mysteries of the universe when the universe wasn't out to kill them.

"You even listening?"

"No," he murmured. He glanced at her from his command chair. "Please don't bother in pointing out the irony of me responding."

"Alright then." She stood up straight from the cogitator she'd been leaning on. "So what _would_ you have me do?"

Shinnon returned his gaze to space, only to close his eyes. Space was empty. He'd received that little nugget of information a lifetime ago.

"Sir?"

"You can be quiet for starters."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes."

"And if I ignore it?"

"Then I might just find it in me to submit you to disciplinary action." He kept his eyes closed.

"But we both know that's not going to happen, don't we?" she asked.

He went back to ignoring her. For a few moments, he was given silence.

"So, Jordanita," she said, breaking that silence. "Was that actually what landed you here?"

"No." He still had his eyes closed, but he was willing to at least indulge her. "No, what landed me here was a combination of an unremarkable record, the _Eminent Justice_ passing through a few years ago, and the _Pathe_ needing a new captain after the old one suffered from the effects of a deck breach." He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Is this a sob story? Please tell me. I figure that since the Dark Eldar are bearing down on us, we might have reached that stage."

She glared at him.

"Oh don't look at me like that. You're the commander of a listening post where you're about to die. I think you're entitled to a few tears."

"I'm a servant of the Emperor, and-"

"Terra's thousands of light years away, I think He has more important things to worry about."

Silence returned to the bridge. Broken by…nothing, he reflected. Not the servitors, not by space, not by screams and splinter rifles either. Just silence. Glorious, comforting silence, that lost its comfort with every passing second.

"Do you know how I got here?" Cipcini asked eventually.

"No," he murmured. _But you're going to tell me._

"I was born on Thanly'yin," she said. "A hive world."

"Fascinating."

"After I was press ganged-"

Shinnon swung his head around. "Press ganged?" he asked.

"Of course. You know how the Imperial Navy works. Any commander is entitled to draft the citizenry of the Imperium of any world to meet the needs of the Emperor's fleet."

"I…of course I know how it works. Emperor's sake, I've helped indenture voidmen myself."

"Right." She smiled – bitterness on one lip, pride on the other. "Then you can imagine what it's like to spend every waking hour tending to a macrocannon, or catching sleep and dreaming of tending to a macrocannon. Telling yourself that the Emperor was watching. That service would not go unrewarded."

"And…I take that it did."

"Oh yes. Lacerations, rape attempts, deafness in one ear, but yes, it paid off. Surviving at all is a feat few accomplish in naval ordnance. Even fewer who are sane by the end of it."

"You're not sane," Shinnon said. He kept his gaze impassive – bad enough he was talking to a serf, even worse that she'd been speaking back to him so brazenly. "If you were sane, you wouldn't be telling me this at all."

"Oh, I'm sane. Enough to know that the Emperor gave me mercy. Enough to know that there's a reason why people like you end up on stations like this. Enough to know that when the Dark Eldar come, I'll fight for the _Pathe_." She looked around the bridge before returning her gaze to her captain's. "Not for you. Not someone who squanders His gifts so willingly."

And with that, she walked out. Shinnon spared a gaze for her. Wondering many things, mostly focusing on "what in the name of the Warp just happened?" More questions for saints and philosophers, he supposed. But for now, as he got up, he-

" .Ing."

"What?"

It was one of the servitors. Specifically one at a cognitor station.

" .Ing. Warp. Rifts."

He could see them from the bridge. Tears in the fabric of space-time, as reality and the un-reality of the Warp met in unholy union. The domain of devils and demons, yet the only way through which mankind could travel the stars. Actually the only way most races of the galaxy could travel the stars at all.

 _Please be the Navy._

He knew that Governor Tiberius had requested reinforcements. But were the warp rifts harbingers of their salvation? Or were the ships that were about to emerge the harbingers of their demise? He gripped the back of his seat, his knuckles white, his eyes wide, his breathing heavy.

 _Emperor, please, by your light…_

The warp rifts stabilized. Space remained empty. His heart kept beating.

And he kept praying all the while.

* * *

Cheers echoed throughout the PDF as the landing craft touched down on the land surrounding Reltoyla. Glorious chariots of the Imperial Navy, bearing the Hammer of the Emperor with them. Too large to land at the capital's spaceport, they now touched down on the green grass, their thrusters incinerating the grass beneath them, and their hulls pressing deep into the soil. Small prices to pay as the might of the Imperium was mustered. Row upon row of the Phyrus 24th Regiment made their way down the highways, accompanied by the armour that the Emperor's legions were known for. And in space above, warships were taking position. Beyond the sights of any mere mortal on the ground, but their presence was known all the same. The Emperor's hand reached across His domain. He could thus wield his hammer and shield where he so desired. And if Starkan was to be the anvil, so be it.

Such were the thoughts in Cassius's mind as he sat on top of the trench, the members of his platoon making whoops, cheers, and occasional slander at the thought of the Imperial Guard coming to take "our glory," whatever the hell that meant. Did they think they'd get glory for fighting aliens, he wondered? To fight the alien was their duty – the duty of all Imperial subjects. A duty that got them killed in most circumstances.

"Can you believe it? It's like they think we've won already."

He glanced over at Berdejo as she walked over. She was smiling, even as she tried to hide it.

"Shouldn't you be doing some ball busting?" Cassius asked.

"Not now." She took a seat beside him. "Course, you can give the order, Sir. That's your prerogative."

"Right. Sure." He looked up into the sky as yet another transport sailed down through the air, its machine spirit defying the laws of gravity. "We both know how it works. Imperial Guard arrives on a world, the PDF becomes part of their command structure." He suppressed the urge to shudder. "Maybe even conscripted."

"And that's their prerogative."

"I know. I'm not denying that. But…" He trailed off. The transport had landed. Soon, another column of men and machines would embark. And he would be reminded just how small he was.

He knew he should feel relief. It was the duty of the PDF of every world to hold the line if tested, long enough for the Emperor's hammer to arrive. That the hammer had arrived before anything else on the anvil was a boon, especially a force of this size. And yet, he felt empty, and he had begun to realize why. Seeing the Imperial Guard, seeing tanks larger than the habitation unit he shared with his family, he was reminded of just how real this was. Xenos were coming. Xenos that were depraved even by the standards of alien-kind.

Real. It was all too real, he reflected. He rose to his feet and kicked up a tuff of what little grass remained. He squinted against the sun. It was said that the Emperor's light eclipsed any star, that His glory was most radiant, His will made manifest. Even with the Imperial Guard here, the sun was still hurting his eyes.

"Did you hear anything about the other convoys?"

Cassius glanced at Berdejo. "No," he said.

"You sure? I mean, you're only a lieutenant but…" She smiled "No offence Sir."

"Oh, none taken. I'm quite happy with 'only' being a lieutenant." He let out a small smile – enough to show that he was sincere. "But no, I can't say I know any more than you. The chain of command's long enough. With the Imperial Guard here, I'm likely even lower."

"Oh. Right."

Her face fell, and Cassius frowned. He didn't like seeing his sergeant like that. It was her job to _not_ look like that even if every other member of the platoon did. He stretched out an arm, thought better of it, then asked, "you have family in Artin don't you?"

She nodded, her gaze averting his.

"That's like…two-thousand klicks from the capital."

"Two-and-a-half thousand," she said. "The route runs over Allophylus province. If they're out in the open when the Dark Eldar attack…"

"They'd be sitting eidouns," Cassius said.

She nodded. Once again the urge to put a hand on her shoulder came to him, but this time, he resisted it from the outset. Berdejo was worried. He couldn't fault her. All of the men were worried. _He_ was worried. So much so that he kicked up another tuff of grass. Worry, fear…they could make a man do strange things. Selfish things, actually. So much that as he thought of Portia, Octavian, Jocasta…enough to make him look at his sergeant, and hope that the Emperor would show mercy for this sin.

"Sergeant?"

"Sir?" she asked.

He took a deep breath, putting a hand to his laspistol on instinct – the one piece of comfort he had right now. "Could you cover for me?"

"Pardon?"

"Just for an hour or two." He forced a smile. "I figure that's how long we have until the PDF is integrated into the Phyrus command structure."

"An hour or two to do what?" She wasn't letting this go. And he couldn't blame her.

"Just…something that I need to do. While I can." The smile faded as small hope gave way to cold reality. "You can do that, right?"

Berdejo offered no smile of her own. Instead, speaking slowly, she murmured, "there's a chance my family could die. That if the Dark Eldar find them, dying would be the best outcome they could hope for."

He nodded.

"You also know that we could all die, that all the lasguns and auto-cannons in the universe might not make a difference."

He nodded.

"And in the midst of all that, you want to see your family. To not only abandon the men, but to commit a number of offences that would see you flogged _at best_."

He nodded.

"And you think that's alright?"

He didn't nod. Instead he just lowered his gaze to the ground. Wondering if more grass would grow one day, or if he would return to the dirt before the year was out.

"I…" She sighed. "Of course Sir. I can cover you for a bit."

"Thank you," he said, grasping her hands and shaking them. "Thank you. I won't forget it."

"Course not," she said, breaking the hold." "And hey, if I die when the xenos attack, you won't even owe me anymore, right?"

"Yeah. I suppose so."

"Right. Well, go on then. See them while you can." She glanced back at the trench, the men now brewing a cup of decatur. "I'll see to this lot."

"Thanks." He smiled at her. "Really."

He began heading off as Berdejo began demanding a cup of her own. Cheers and jeers rang out through the morning air. He tried to smile, but couldn't do so.

The Dark Eldar were coming. He was risking everything and abandoning his platoon to see his family for what could be the last time. And only for a few hours at best.

Part of him felt damned already for being able to live with that.

* * *

"Capital ships…landing…Guard…Na…"

"Oh, give it up Aidan."

Maria was driving their rover, which was packed with a trio of bickering children in the back. The people of Artin were moving in a convoy down the Iron Road – the route that cut across Allophylus province that led to the capital. Pooling the town's entire motor pool together, they'd managed to provide transport for all 196 of its citizens, however tight a squeeze it was. The convoy was long, the pace was slow in a bid to minimize fuel consumption, and even if they did two-hundred klicks per day, it would still take them nearly three weeks to reach the capital. It had occurred to Maria that if xenos did attack, and they singled out the convoy, they'd be as good as dead. A little titbit that she'd kept silent about.

"Governor…berius…citizens…"

"Damn it!"

Aidan hit the dashboard and turned off the vox. The reception on the rover had never been good, and trying to pick up a broadcast from the capital had proven to be beyond its capabilities. He looked over at her.

"Seems like good news though, right?" he asked. "Something about landing craft? A guard? As in, the Imperial Guard?"

"Are they the ones who are the emperor's knights?" asked a child in the back. "The ones that the Emperor sends to keep us safe? The…the Spaze Mareens?"

Maria forced a smile. "No dear, not quite. But we'll be safe, don't worry."

 _Liar._

"Mummy said to daddy that we won't be, that the aliens will come, and our souls will be damned."

 _Well mummy's a foolish woman then._ The smile still forced, Maria said, "grownups say strange things honey. Don't worry about it."

The look on the girl's face made it quite clear that she did worry about it, but the two boys beside her had gone back to their game of 'who can be the most loud and annoying?', so she returned her gaze to the road ahead. Maybe the girl's mother should have kept quiet, but Maria had to admit, she wasn't the only one with such thoughts. If aliens did arrive, and so far Cinna had told them nothing more than the arrival of xenos of some kind, then being out on the road would be a death sentence. Artin was scarcely defensible, but "scarcely" was better than "not at all."

Aidan sighed, and lay back in his seat – Maria could tell that he was uncomfortable, that he didn't have enough room, and only the children in the backseat were preventing him from pushing himself back any further. "Are we there yet?" he asked.

"No."

"Now?"

"Aidan, that game got old over a decade ago."

"Ah, you grew up too fast."

"Least I actually did grow up."

He frowned. "What's that meant to mean?"

"I…" Maria rose a hand, then put it back down on the steering real. "It's nothing."

"Come on, say it."

"It's nothing."

"Sis, say it."

"Are you fighting?" one of the children asked.

"No," Maria said. Which might have worked, if Aidan hadn't said "yes" at the same time. She glared at him. "Fine. Know why you haven't grown up?"

"Tell me."

"Because you come out with garbage like that." She put her foot down on the accelerator, enough to give the rover a rev without hitting the vehicle in front. "Emperor help me, I wish I didn't have to look after you."

"So do I," he murmured. He leaned on the edge of his open window. "Save you from the grox, this is the thanks I get."

Maria remained silent. The grox. It seemed like ancient history now. Artin was over two-hundred kilometres away, but it might as well have been two-hundred light years. She yawned – driving was tiring work, and bickering wasn't going to make it any easier.

 _Are we going to stop yet?_

Cinna was in the head vehicle of the convoy – a rover of his own, reserved only for his own use. When he stopped, the convoy would stop. An event that only happened in mid-afternoon, and at twilight. By the chronometer on the rover's dashboard, Maria reckoned they should have pulled over an hour ago.

"Hey Sis?"

"Yes?"

"Weren't we meant to stop an hour ago?"

Despite herself, she couldn't help but smile. "Yep. Pretty much."

"Oh. Right. Just wondering."

"Hey, want to go up to Cinna, be my guess."

"Yeah, no thanks. You know what Cinna's like."

"What's Cinna like?" asked one of the children. Aidan looked back at the boy. "Daddy said that Cinna kept our faith strong, protecting us from heretics."

"Well, yeah," Aidan said. "But-"

Maria was about to tell her brother to shut up, that if "daddy" had warned the fruit of his loins about heretics, speaking ill of an arbitrator could land her brother in hot water. She wanted to tell him that. Tell him many other things, actually. That she was thankful for the grox, that he'd held up well since the death of their family, that she was glad to have him as her brother.

She never got the chance. Because it was at that moment that the rover was suddenly turned over. The sound and smell of an explosion. The sound of glass breaking, of warm blood landing on the pavement. She realized that she was looking down, that the left side of her face was leaning against the road. That her ears were ringing. Blood smeared over her forehead and hair.

"Aidan?" she whispered.

Her ears were still ringing. And…were those other blasts she heard? Screams? Gunfire?

"Aidan?" She reached out to him, his body limply suspended in the seat. Her arm looked like a blur through her eyes, as if she were manipulating a limb that wasn't of her own body. She unfastened his seatbelt.

"Emperor!"

She stifled a sob as she saw that her brother was dead. His face was torn to shreds, and blood was pouring out from the right side of his body. His shirt was torn, his skin burnt, its stench filling her nostrils, as if death itself was reaching inside her. She looked away, briefly looking into the back of the rover. She shut her eyes, and kept them closed for three seconds. She'd seen what was now on the back seat of the rover. She never wanted to see it again.

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi._

She would remember their names. Find their parents. Tell them…tell them that death had been quick and painless. A claim she could only hope was true.

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi._

Her ears were ringing less, allowing her to hear the sounds outside the rover even more clearly. Screams. Shots. Not just shots from autoguns, but lasguns by the sound of it. No-one in Artin had a lasgun.

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi._

She climbed up through the rover, keeping her eyes shut as she did so. Sliding past her brother's corpse. Trying to ignore the fire racing through her muscles. She had to get out. If she stayed here, she'd be dead.

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi._

She kept their names in her mind. It was the only thing that kept her from screaming in pain.

"Otis! Phaela! Sarandi!"

But she had to yell all the same. So with their names on their lips, she pressed open the jangled mess that was the passenger's door.

"Aidan."

She began crawling out.

"Aylla."

Uttered the name of her mother as the top half of her body made its way through the side door."

"Bararr."

Uttered her father's name, as she looked over the countryside.

"Cinna."

Cinna. He was there, in the field beside the road. Running through the grass towards a dilapidated farmhouse. The convoy was under attack, and he was fleeing.

 _You bastard._

She gazed around the carnage. Multiple bodies had been hit. The people of Artin were either fleeing or shooting at the figures on the field to the road's left.

 _You absolute bastard._

The attackers weren't alien. They were clearly human. Also clearly using lasguns. Firing with a large amount of coordination and accuracy.

 _You're supposed to protect us!_

Even as she watched Anne Berjedo be cut down where she stood, her thoughts were on Cinna. Even as she saw Lanka and Kandy lie on the road, as close together in death as they had been in life, her thoughts were on Cinna. Even as she screamed, as she pulled herself out of the rover and landed on the ground, her thoughts were on Cinna. The one who'd left them. Betrayed them. Somehow, in the midst of all of this, she hated him more than the people attacking the convoy.

So she crawled. Crawled across the road, feeling the gravel tear the skin of her palms, thinking of Aidan. Crawled, as the screams and shots died down, thinking of the grox, and how it had died. Crawled, as she thought of grabbing an autogun, and killing every last one of these monsters. Crawled, and grunted, as she rolled off the road into a ditch.

"Cinna."

His name was on her lips.

Everyone she loved and cared about was on her eyes, as she closed them and lost consciousness. As her world fell silent, as did the road above.

* * *

Buren had protested the request of aid from the Imperial Navy. Glancing at his general, Tiberius could tell that he still resisted the prospect.

But then again, it was past the point of a 'prospect' now. The Imperial Navy had arrived, and brought with it the might of the Imperial Guard. Before him, looming above the desk of his office, Tiberius looked at the heads of each of those groups.

"Governor Tiberius," said Gollan. "May I present Admiral Valerian Kurtz, and General Cliff Aran."

"Gentlemen," said Tiberius, rising from his seat. "May I welcome you to Starkan. And may I also commend you for your quick response."

"Thank Governor Snir," Kurtz murmured. "As soon as he received word from your astropath, he dispatched my battlegroup to your sector."

"All the way from Tomina?" Tiberius asked.

"All the way as in 1127 light years?" Kurtz asked. "Yes. My fleet was part of the planet's defences. But in the knowledge of a xenos attack on the world of the Akarat sector? Well, that was too good an opportunity to pass up."

"Is that your assessment?" Buren murmured.

"It's the governor's wish," Kurtz said.

Tiberius remained silent. Tomina was the heart of the Germaine sector – a forge world. Next to it, Starkan was nothing. But clearly, Snir had thought differently, even if Kurtz possibly didn't.

"Kurtz and I have planned the defence of Starkan and the Artika system," General Aran said. He smiled – the first smile Tiberius had seen since the men had entered the room. "The PDF will be incorporated into the twenty-fourth's command structure. I'll have my ordinantes coordinate with Buren and his staff."

"I'm sure you will," Buren murmured.

Kurtz stepped forward. "Is there a problem, General?"

"You tell me."

"Fine. There is," Kurtz said. "I've been dispatched here from a forge world that's vital to the defence of Germaine sector, and half a dozen neighbouring sub-sectors. All for one world that I hadn't even heard of until a few days ago."

"We do appreciate it," Tiberius said. "The Dark Eldar-"

"The Dark Eldar are pirates who raid and pillage, not conquer," Kurtz said. "I've fought and defeated them on more than one occasion. I know their tactics, I know how to counter them, I know that a strong defence by itself may be enough to dissuade them. These aren't orks, Governor. They seek out the weakest of targets, not the strongest." He sneered at Buren. "I can see why you needed us."

Buren began to step forward, until Tiberius said, "you have jurisdiction over the Artika system, and-"

"Of course I do," Kurtz snapped, and Buren stopped walking as soon as Tiberius stopped talking. "It's my fleet, my voidmen, my plan. So stay out of my way until its execution is finished."

Tiberius said nothing. Kurtz stood there – tall, stern, wrinkled skin meshed with the blessings of the Machine God. Aran, with wispy grey hair, a big belly, and a slouch in his posture, was the one to break the silence, yet still with candour.

"I can see that we all feel strongly about the defence of this world," he said. He shot both Kurtz and Buren a smile – one smaller than the one he had given before. "Kurtz has the space surrounding this world, I shall oversee the defence of this world itself. I would appreciate the aid of the PDF of course."

"I thought you had command over them," Buren said.

"Command, yes. But I didn't reach the position I'm in now by refusing to listen to advice. It's your world after all. Not even my regiment can protect every square metre. But I'm sure Buren can advise me on the most vital links in the chain."

"I…" Buren swallowed. "I can do that."

"Good. Because I'm in agreement with Kurtz – a strong defence will be our soundest strategy against these xenos."

"In that, I also agree," Tiberius said. He rose from his seat and stuck out a hand. "Welcome to Starkan gentlemen. I leave the defence of my world in your hands."

Aran shook it. Kurtz didn't. But Tiberius could live with that. One victory, one loss. All on the path to the greater victory that he hoped lay ahead.

"If I may, General," Buren asked. "How _did_ you get to the position you're in?"

"Simple," Aran answered. "By winning."


	4. Preparation

" _And so the die is cast."_

" _You almost sound disappointed."_

" _After ten millennia, you seek a challenge."_

" _I'm sure there'll be others."_

" _Indeed. But it matters not. Our target will fall – fear of the alien has seen to that."_

 **Warhammer 40,000: Chains of Fear**

 **Chapter 4: Preparation**

 _Back here again._

The PDF had been concentrated at Reltoyla, and mostly in the area surrounding the city. Within Reltoyla itself, a sizable portion had been assigned to guard the governor's residence. With limited manpower, few PDF soldiers had been assigned to the residential sector. Protecting the people was the job of the Adeptus Arbites after all. But nonetheless, this was a time of war. So a PDF lieutenant making his way through the streets on the way to the Shrine of Saint Nega wouldn't be out of the ordinary.

Or at least, such were Cassius's thoughts as he made his way through the streets in question, heading for the shrine in question, hoping that the Arbites in question were more focused on keeping civilians in line than soldiers. And that questions wouldn't be asked, while he silently asked questions ranging from "when will the Dark Eldar arrive" to "when will _I_ arrive?" He didn't know the answer to the former. But the latter was a question that was soon answered. He stood in place as he beheld the shrine in question.

 _Too many questions,_ he thought.

He kept his gaze on the shrine. It towered over the hab units, but that was about it. A column of stairs led up to its entrance, now flanked by barbed wire and sandbags. PDF soldiers remained in place – about a squad's worth, but all at ease. He'd trained in the PDF long enough to gauge a trooper's mood, and these men were taking it easy, as much as ease as one could be in such times. Ease enough that they were laying back and smoking, reading, or laughing nervously. Enough to let mothers and children loiter around in the square outside the shrine, whether it be in the glow of Starkan's sun, or in the shadow of the statue of Saint Nega. The Patron Saint of Mercy. All in a pale imitation of what it had been like here just a few days ago.

 _If I'm found, will I receive mercy?_

He didn't know, but remained focus on the problem at hand. All he had to do was walk through that square, walk past the troopers, gain entry to the shrine, find his family, and do so without arousing suspicion. Frowning, he reflected that he was a lieutenant – that should give him enough clout to bypass awkward questions but-

"Cassius?"

…or he could just stay put and see Jocasta walk up to him. Considering that was what had just happened, Plan B had become the optimal course of action.

"Jo…Jocasta…"

And Plan B had now gone the way of Saint Nega herself – remembered, but lost to time. Jocasta, however, was still here. Looking at him in bewilderment.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I…" Cassius swallowed – his throat was dry, and his tongue was tied. "I had to see you."

"See me?" Jocasta whispered. "Cassius, aren't you meant to be with your unit? Aliens are about to attack, you can't just sneak off and-"

The words washed over Cassius's mind, as he barely listened. This wasn't how it was meant to go, he told himself. Jocasta had told him that she loved him when they last spoke. Before he sent them off to the shrine, as Sister Lynne led them away. This…this wasn't meant to happen.

"Cassius?"

Wrong. It was all wrong, he reflected. Aliens weren't meant to invade, he wasn't meant to be here, Jocasta was-"

"Cassius, are you listening?"

He returned to the here and now. His throat still sore, his body still rooted in place. Jocasta just looked at him, as she brushed some hair from her eyes. Black hair that was turning grey much too fast. Silently, he glanced out over the courtyard. It took him only a moment to find his children, playing with others as children were wont to do. It took only another moment for him to ask how he couldn't have seen them until now. But there they were – Octavian in the lead, Portia trailing behind. His son, ever the leader. Not like himself.

"They look happy," he murmured. He turned back to his wife. "A lot of the children do."

"Cassius, that's hardly the point."

"Do they know?" he whispered.

"What?"

"Do they know?" he repeated.

"Wha…of course they don't know," Jocasta hissed. "Emperor preserve me, do you think I want to give our children nightmares? That aliens are coming? Nega preserve me, they're even saying that it's Dark Eldar."

"It is," Cassius murmured.

"I…" Jocasta stumbled, but quickly composed herself. "Terra help me, do you think I'm going to terrify my children with…with _that_?"

"They should know the truth."

"Why are you here Cassius?" He tried to walk away, but she grabbed him. "Answer me."

"I…" Cassius stopped walking, only to sit down on the steps of a hab unit. Plascrete steps that would shatter as quickly as the unit itself with moderate firepower. "I…I just had to see you."

"Did sergeant what's-her-name cover for you? Emperor bless that woman, she-"

"Damn it Jocasta I had to see you!" he yelled, loud enough for some children to stop running, but thankfully, no troopers or Arbites. "I…"

"Cassius…"

"I had to see you," he repeated. "I…" He trailed off, resting his face in his hands. When they emerged, his eyes were red. "I couldn't leave without…without making it better. I couldn't leave with Octavian saying he hated me, with you looking at me like I was never coming back, because…" He swallowed, his Adam's apple warbling. "Because I don't know if I'm coming back Jocasta. Emperor help me, there's the Imperial Guard, the Navy, there's everything but the Astartes, but Emperor forgive me, I'm scared. I…I just couldn't…"

He couldn't bear it. He felt like a coward. He _was_ a coward, he told himself. He was a coward for leaving his unit, he was a coward for entering the city, and he was a coward for expecting his wife to make up for said cowardice. Fear, he reflected. Fear had come to every citizen of Starkan. And he'd failed in the battle against it. Miserably. He kept feeling that way even as Jocasta hugged him.

"I know," she whispered. "I know…" She paused, before kissing him. "I'm so proud of you Cassius. I always have been – you trained, you drilled, and I always knew that someday you might have to fight." She kissed him once more. "And your children love you."

"They said-"

"Portia said what any three year old would say when she thinks her father is going away without reason, and Octavian said what any five year old would say when he thinks he understands the world." She smiled. "Come on, Cassius. I'll let you see that for yourself."

"I…" He swallowed. "I really should get back to my unit."

His wife put her hands on her hips. "Are you telling me you walked all this way, risked censure, and betrayed the Emperor's faith, just to back out now?"

"The Emperor-"

"To the Warp with the Emperor. You're here, he's not. Your children are yours, not his. And this is our world more than any other's."

Cassius couldn't help but smile at such casual blasphemy. But silently, he got to his feet, following his wife over into the square. The smile remained as his children saw him. As they cried out for him and ran over. Remained as he hugged them as tightly as he ever had, or, as he reminded himself, harder than he might ever do so again.

He had fled in the face of fear. Had risked everything for this moment.

It was worth it.

* * *

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan._

The words were in her mind, but not on her lips, as she dragged herself across the field that lay adjacent to the Iron Road. Her left hand was pressed against her waist, her fingers wet with blood. Her right was dedicated to dragging an autogun through the grass, thick with evening dew. Hours had passed since the convoy had been hit. Since she'd dared move from the ditch, laying still, as she'd heard the sounds of gunfire, laughter, and screams, as if demons themselves had come to Starkan. Creatures of myth, she knew, nothing more than sailor stories spawned from the superstitions of the Warp, and yet, if they did exist, and did what those monsters had to her fellow townspeople, she would have believed it. Monsters. Demons. Men. As the Emperor's children slaughtered each other, why did xenos need to exist?

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan._

She couldn't bring herself to recite the names of the other 192 people who had been killed, or may have survived. Four names were enough to keep her going. Blood pouring out of her wound, dragging Aidan's autogun along, the farmhouse was her destination. At the least, safety, far more so than what the highway could provide. And quite possibly, her quandary.

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan._

She groaned, and reached the farmhouse's entrance. It hadn't been burnt down like the one she'd seen with her brother a few days ago, but it was clear that no-one had lived her for quite some time. The rotting wood, the rickety shutters, the stench. The way the door creaked open as she nudged it with the butt of her rifle – aratho webs were everywhere. Enough to bind her wound, she reflected grimly. Well, maybe she could find the kitchen and find a way to get out the shrapnel that had found its way into her, or-

"Emperor, hear my prayer…"

She bit her lip, and not just because of the pain in her side. That voice…

"…let my soul shine in the dark, and illuminate the way for the unfaithful."

She pressed the autogun against her shoulder. Yes, there was no mistaking it. She slowly made her way down the hall, doing her best to not let the floorboards creek. She'd found him.

"Know that I am your faithful servant."

 _Liar._ She kept moving, coming to the living room. A small fire had been lit.

"And shall be forevermore."

Casting its light on carapace armour, and a bolt pistol put beside it. Casting its light on the man seated in front of the embers.

"Cinna."

He turned to face her, as if he were a child looking up to his mother. He slowly reached for his gun.

"Don't," she said. She gestured towards a couch. "Sit."

Cinna silently obeyed. She looked down the sights of the autogun, fighting just to stay conscious."

"You're bleeding," he said.

"I know."

"I can help," he said.

"Liar," Maria whispered, even as pain's voice joined her words.

"Why would I lie?" he asked.

"Because you take lives, you don't save them. Because you left us all to die."

"Left you…do I know you?"

Maria laughed. Laughed, even as her throat ran sore. Laughed, as her left side tore into her very soul. Laughed, as she collapsed down against the adjacent sofa, near where Cinna's gear was. Laughed, and stopped only when Cinna's silence silenced her in turn.

"You don't know," she whispered. "Emperor almighty, you don't even know."

"Don't take the Emperor's name in vain."

"Go to hell," she spat. She rested the autogun on the ground, her hands on its butt. "They're all dead, you know. The people of Artin. The people you were meant to protect."

Cinna remained silent, and Maria glared at him. Gone was the Arbitrator who had executed Adept Schaar, alongside a dozen men and women who he deemed guilty by association. Gone was the figure of her nightmare. All that sat before her now was a man, like any other. Like the men she'd seen killed on the road today. Like the men she'd killed in the rebellion two years ago, as she fought to defend her family. Like men Cinna had killed after the rebellion had ended, judging them as guilty, and dispatching justice through execution.

"I fled," he said. "And I'm alive. Still able to serve the Emperor."

"And not us?" she whispered. She continued to glare at him, the fire reflecting off her eyes. "Did it even occur to you to fight back?"

"As I said, I serve the Emperor. I'll answer to him, not to you."

Maria scoffed and lay back in her seat. "Who were they?" she asked. "The people who attacked us."

"Rebels turned bandits, most likely, the ones who survived the attempted coup from two years ago. Decadents who turned their back on his Almighty. Traitors, for whom there can be no forgiveness. I believe you may have seen their handiwork."

The burnt farm, she reflected. Somehow, he knew. And he hadn't lifted a finger to help even then.

"Are you a traitor?" she asked. "The one who fled?"

"You're upset," Cinna said. "I understand that."

"No. You don't. You can't possibly imagine how much I hate you. How I saw what you did to those people two years ago." She leant forward. "Do you even know their names, Cinna? Did you even stop to ask who was guilty and who was innocent?"

"Adept Schaar was guilty," he said.

"And his family? Friends? Relatives? Support staff?"

"Innocent may die alongside the guilty. All that matters is that the guilty party is punished. Better a hundred innocents die than one guilty man go free."

"Better that nearly two-hundred die so that you can live also."

Cinna made a move to go forward. Maria raised her rifle, stopping him in his tracks. He glared at her, a glint in his eyes coming from more than just the fire in the corner. Slowly, he spoke.

"Xenos are coming," he said. "You won't last a day without me."

"I lasted well enough without you on the highway."

"The rebels," he said, and for a moment Maria heard desperation in his voice. "You should hate them, not me. They killed your people. They-"

"I do hate them. Even more than you. Only, I can't do anything about that." She winced, as her blood spilled onto the couch's mattress. "Only…" She sighed, and rose to her feet. "Fear does strange things, doesn't it? I'm probably going to die one way or another, and all I can think about is…" She trailed off, and glanced towards the room's exit. "I guess-"

Cinna charged into her.

It had been all the opening he'd needed. One look away, and he'd charged into her, sending them both crashing out the door. Maria screamed as she collided against the hallway wall. Blood poured out, but she wasn't dead. Not yet. Yet she might soon be, as Cinna grabbed the autogun.

"Traitor! Heretic!"

She struggled to keep a hold of it. But he pressed it down against her throat, choking her.

"By my right as arbitrator, you are convicted of treason…"

She choked, gasping for air, rasping like a dying animal. She tried to hit him, but her hands flailed against his face.

"…and sentenced to death."

She could barely breathe. She was the grox, and Cinna was pressing the knife against her throat. An animal was trying to kill her. Like an animal, she fought to stay alive.

"This is my judgement."

She rested her hands on the autogun, but couldn't pry it off her throat.

"May the Emperor have mercy on your soul."

The Emperor, she reflected. The Emperor who had done nothing for her. The Emperor who let men like Cinna do whatever the hell they wanted.

"For I shall grant you none."

And in that moment, it was all clear. Cinna wasn't a coward. Cinna was a monster.

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan._

She squeezed the trigger of the autogun. A volley of shots hit the door at the end of the hallway, doing Cinna no harm. But it gave him pause as he automatically recoiled from the weapon, caught off-guard. Enough for her to shove the autogun forward, giving her enough space to kick him off her, sending him sprawling.

"I'll kill you!" he yelled. Fire was once more in his eyes, as he made ready to charge. She picked up the autogun, holding it under her arm – at this close range, she didn't need to worry about accuracy. Cinna turned to flee back into the lounge room. For a moment, she hesitated.

 _Otis. Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan._

But only for a moment, as she gave the trigger another squeeze. Cinna screamed as bullets tore into his back, falling down to the floor. Through the gloom, she could see him reaching for his bolt gun. With a yell, fighting the pain, she got to her feet and rushed him, kicking him in the side. He screamed, and rolled over, finding the rifle pointed down at him.

"Say it!" she yelled. "Say it!"

"I…I don't…"

"Say it! Admit it!"

"Please…please don't kill me…"

"Say you were afraid! That you're a coward! That you let my people die!" She pressed the gun down as hard as she could, right against his forehead. "Emperor help me, say it!"

"The Emperor…God-Emperor…"

"The Emperor can't help you! Say it!" Blood fell onto the floor. Water fell down her cheeks. "Say it," she whispered.

"I…" Now, Cinna was crying. "Oh, Saint Nega, I…I fled. I was scared. I…I was ready to fight, but I saw them…so many…I…I didn't want to die…"

"Say it," she whispered. "Admit it. Say that you're a coward."

"I…" He swallowed. "I'm a coward."

"Louder!"

"I, Arbitrator Cinna Alaqeh, am a coward!" He was blubbering now. "Emperor help me, I'm a coward!"

Maria took a step back. He lay there, blubbering like a child. A coward had taken the lives of her people. A coward had let the lives of her people be taken. A coward had nearly taken her own life, but now, lay her crying. Daring mercy to be granted, as Saint Nega would have wanted. Even as he dispatched "justice."

"It's…it's alright," he said. "I…I can help. We'll patch you up, and-"

"Otis. Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan."

He stared at her. "What?"

"Otis," Maria repeated. "Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Otis," Maria repeated, her voice wavering, her eyes watering. "Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan."

"I…I don't know who these people are."

"No," Maria said. "I know you don't." She raised her rifle. "But, Emperor willing, you'll meet them."

Cinna's eyes grew wide. "Wait," he said. "I-"

She fired only one shot this time. But only one bullet was needed to go through his forehead, killing him instantly. His body crumpled onto the floor, lying by a dying fire. His blood soaking into the wood. Dead. Unmourned. Unburied.

"Otis," Maria repeated. "Phaela. Sarandi. Aidan."

She limped over to the couch, dropping the autogun. It was Aidan's weapon, not hers.

"Aylla. Bararr."

She collapsed onto the couch, closing her eyes, letting the tears and blood flow.

"Anne. Lanka. Kandy."

She needed sleep. Needed rest. Her wound could wait until morning, she reassured herself.

"Borga. Helena. Dorin."

Funny, she reflected, as she felt sleep's embrace take her, accompanied by the touch of something darker, and far more eternal. Laying her, reciting the names of the fallen…

"Conus, Yung…"

…she no longer felt afraid.

* * *

He found her in the chapel.

 _Pathe_ had taught him how to play the waiting game, and now he'd mastered it. That meant either continuing to play the waiting game and winning for every second of every hour, or finding a new game to play. Right now, it was "find Commander Cipcini because servitors aren't any fun." So, partly due to intuition, partly due to the _Pathe_ not being that large, he found Sabina Cipcini in the listening post's chapel. Knelt in front of a mural of the God-Emperor, sword in one hand, the _Lectitio Divinitatus_ in the other.

"Thought I'd find you here."

She didn't respond, but he continued walking up through the chapel. Past wooden pews, past flickering candles that cast their light on the marble walls, past the servo-skulls that hovered in the air, as if aspiring to be angels. He only stopped right in front of her – his commander below him, the God-Emperor above. The natural order of things he supposed, though from what little understood, the Emperor hadn't walked in shining armour among mankind for ten-thousand years.

"Haven't been in here much," he said.

"I'm not surprised."

Ah, so she did speak, he reflected. He paused in silence for a moment. Nothing but silence remained.

"Well, least there won't be any servitors in here," he continued awkwardly. "I mean, some people claim the Machine God and God-Emperor are one and the same, but, well, I'm not a philosopher."

"Or a saint."

"Or a saint," he agreed.

"So what are you?"

She still hadn't turned to face him. So, with care to be as silent as possible, he went to sit down in a pew. It looked like it was made out of bluewood – a wood less known for its bizarre name, and more known for its sturdiness and-

 **CRASH!**

-and sturdiness was overrated, he reflected, as he crashed right through the bench. He would have cursed if, as he fell, he didn't see Cipcini spring up in surprise. And hadn't seen the tears in her eyes.

 _Bloody hell._

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Am I alright?" he asked. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"You're crying," he said.

"You fell through a pew."

"So I'll give the servitors something to do, and laugh as servants of the Machine God defile a chapel of the Emperor. But what about-"

"This isn't funny!" She stormed past him.

"Listen, everyone cries, I-"

"It's not about the tears!" She spun around – her eyes were red. Very red. So red that it wasn't just due to the tears in question.

"You come in here," Cipcini began. "You…you…"

"Exposed bluewood as a sham?"

"You smash a pew-"

"Actually, I fell through it."

"-and make jokes about the Machine God, and servitors, and blasphemy, and…and…" She trailed off, before sitting on a pew of her own. Exhausted. "Go to hell," she whispered.

Shinnon cast a glance back at the Emperor. The Emperor's visage stared right back at him. Hard, firm…uncaring, he supposed? Maybe that didn't accurately describe the man, for in His power, he held the Imperium together, let His ships sail through the Warp. "The Emperor protects," as the saying went. Maybe that was why Cipcini was here. Or maybe…

"Faith before fear," he murmured.

"What?" Cipcini looked up at him.

Shinnon looked back at her. Finally, he understood. Finally, it all made sense.

"You're afraid," he said.

"What?"

"You're afraid," he repeated. "That's why you're here. That's why you were pacing up and down the bridge. The Dark Eldar are coming, and you're afraid."

"I…I am not."

"Guess that's why you came into the chapel. Maybe-"

"I. Am not. Afraid!" She rose to her feet and made a beeline towards him. "If you think-"

"Only natural, I guess. I mean-"

She punched him in the jaw, sending Shinnon sprawling through another pew. Bluewood scattered everywhere. He would have winced, if not for Cipcini jumping on top of him, punching him once after another.

"Take it back!" she yelled. "Take it-"

He grabbed her arm and punched her in the jaw, followed by a kick to the stomach. It was enough to get her off him.

"Commander, stand down!"

She sprung up and charged into him, slamming him against the mural. This time, nothing shattered. But candles fell down as he slammed back into her, sending them both sprawling over the ground. She-

"Enough!"

Shinnon had got up first, and had drawn a laspistol. Cipcini glared at him right up the barrel.

"You don't scare me," she said.

"Maybe not. But the Dark Eldar do, don't they?"

She laughed bitterly before collapsing back down onto the ground. Pieces of broken bluewood surrounded her, as if she was in the centre of a self-consuming spiral.

"You don't know me," she said.

"I can guess that you put a lot of faith in the Emperor." He glanced at the mural of His benevolence. "No idea why."

"Heretic."

"Heretic, apostate, traitor, call me what you want."

"Can I call you a cunt?"

"If you want. Preferably not in front of our subordinates."

"Good," Cipcini said. "Because that's what you are. A cunt."

Shinnon's gaze narrowed, fighting the urge to wince. "I've been called worse."

 _Liar._

"I can believe that," Cipcini said. "Like I said, you know nothing."

"I'm a captain of a listening station who actually has experience with Dark Eldar."

"Formerly stationed on a ship that never made contact."

"And you?" he snapped. "What's your experience?"

"Thanly'yin," she said.

"Your homeworld?"

"A hive world," she whispered. Another tear streaked down her cheek. "You ever been on a hive world, Captain?"

"No," he murmured. "I haven't."

"Well, lucky you. You don't need to know that I know exactly what the Dark Eldar have in store for us."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because it's exactly what human beings do to each other."

Shinnon opened his mouth, then closed it. Likewise, he lowered the laspistol. He'd heard of hive worlds. Of hives themselves – towering cities that housed billions of souls. All numbers, he reflected. Sabina Cipcini had been one of those numbers. Been a number in the Imperial Fleet as well. Maybe it was natural that she looked to the Emperor, he reflected. Maybe, out here in space, it was the only thing she could look _to_.

"I know what humans can do to each other," he murmured.

"Don't patronize me."

"I know," he said, "because I saw it on Starkan two years ago. When insurgents tried to overthrow Governor Tiberius."

Cipcini didn't say anything this time.

"It was a harsh winter," he said, kneeling down in front of her. "I wasn't on the planet myself, but I read the reports. Saw the vids. Thousands dying due to famine, tens of thousands dying in the ensuing rebellion."

"Traitors, the lot of them."

"True. Doesn't make watching people being executed any more appealing."

Cipcini didn't answer that question. She remained silent even as Shinnon got back up. He didn't glance at the Emperor this time. There was nothing left to say to Him. And his impassive gaze would tell him nothing that he didn't already know. Starkan meant nothing. Its people meant even less.

"I get it," he said. "You're afraid."

She turned around, forming a fist under her chin.

"I'm afraid too," he said.

She glanced at him. "How?" she asked.

"How?" he repeated. "Well, _Pathe_ is a sitting target, and the Dark Eldar are…well, Dark Eldar. Aliens. Why do you think I've been doing nothing on the bridge up until now?"

She opened her mouth to say something. He guessed her words would have been 'because you're lazy' or some such. He couldn't blame her if she did say that. But he wouldn't press the issue.

"So, yeah," he said. "I deal with fear in my way. I'll let you deal with it in yours." He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Just come back to the bridge when you've dealt with it."

He turned to leave. He began walking, and was still walking when Cipcini said, "I think the Emperor might like my way more."

"He might. But he might like you a bit less if He knew that you struck a superior officer." He glanced back at her, and saw the fear in her eyes. Fear of realizing what she'd done. What might be done in response to that action. Fear that stemmed from a lot of things.

"But like I said," Shinnon murmured, "we all deal with fear in our own way."

And so he left. Out of the chapel. Out of the sight of the Emperor. Into the corridor, straight into a servitor.

"Trans. Miss. On."

He took the astropathic transcript.

And felt fear of a very different kind.

* * *

"Tomina is under attack?"

"That's what I've heard."

"What you've _heard_?"

"I'm only in command of the PDF," Buren said. "Do you think Aran or Kurtz are going to waste time on me?"

"I…" Tiberius trailed off. No, he reflected. He supposed not. The PDF had been folded into the Imperial Guard's command structure. Buren was part of that structure, but not integral to it.

"The PDF has been conscripted into the Guard," Buren continued. "We'll only have a token force to defend Starkan."

"But…but the Dark Eldar," Tiberius protested. "They-"

"Tomina is under attack," Buren repeated. "That's all I know, and if Kurtz or Aran know more, they're not saying it."

Tiberius buried his face in his hands. The Navy, the Guard, even his own forces…they were going, and within a day, they'd be gone. Tomina, a forge world, was under attack, and-

…and sweat trickled down his brow. He'd summoned them here, over Buren's objections. He'd made a request for aid, leaving Tomina defenceless. He…he could be impeached. Removed. Even executed.

"What'll happen?" he whispered.

"I told you," Buren said, even as Tiberius got to his feet. "The Imperial Guard and-"

"Will I still be governor after this?" He walked over to the window, looking out across the residence towards the fence that surrounded it. "I mean, they can't blame me, can they? I mean, yes, I requested aid, but they chose to come? Oh, who's the governor of Tomina? Snir? Yes, yes…" He swallowed. "I mean…yes. Yes, it'll be fine. He'll understand." He looked over a Buren. "It'll be fine, won't it? I survived a rebellion, I'll survive this. They can't blame me."

Buren frowned. "If the Dark Eldar-"

"The Dark Eldar," he scoffed. "Where are they? Are they even coming? This…this is a ploy! It…it makes sense. Someone-"

"Governor?" Buren asked. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Oh yes," Tiberius said. "Any at all."

"Shut up."

Tiberius stood there, rooted to the spot, like a tree facing an oncoming storm. Buren's eyes were like lightning, his fists curled in the shape of thunder clouds. He stood there, like the eye, projecting wind outward.

"Tomina is under attack," he said. "It's a forge world, the heart of the Germaine sector, a crucial production node."

"I know," Tiberius protested.

"So do you think Starkan matters in that context?" Buren asked.

"I don't think-"

"Do _you_ matter?"

Tiberius opened his mouth. Nothing came out, as Buren stood there. As did Gollan, in the corner of his office. He'd forgotten all about him until now. Silently, Tiberius collapsed into his chair, rubbing his forehead. No, he supposed. He didn't matter. Starkan didn't matter. Tomina, however, did.

He didn't ask Buren what he thought about how, in the midst of all this, he'd feared for his own position. That even now, reflecting on his cowardice, the fear remained. That even if the Dark Eldar came, and by some miracle were repelled, that he feared what the Imperium might do to him. He, Hector Tiberius, governor of Starkan – the coward who called for aid, and was given it, only to leave a forge world undefended. Thinking back to the war room, it had seemed so prudent. So perfect an opportunity. Now, though…He sighed. Buren had objected to calling for aid. Right now, it was validated.

"You sure you don't know anything else?" he murmured.

"All I know is that _Pathe_ transmitted it to Kurtz's flagship," Buren said.

 _Another transmission,_ Tiberius reflected. _Started with one, and this affair ends with one, without even the courtesy of forwarding it on to me directly._ He wondered how those on the _Pathe_ would take it. Those same magnificent battleships having entered the system, now only to leave. Would they feel helplessness, he wondered? Isolation? Fear?

He wouldn't be surprised. He felt all of those things himself.

"So what now?" he asked. "How long until the ships depart?"

"Likely twenty-four hours."

Tiberius didn't ask about travel time to Tomina. He wasn't a navigator. But he knew that the Warp was a fickle mistress.

"As for what now?" Buren said. "We keep what PDF we can, and wait for the xenos."

Tiberius looked at him. "Is that all?"

"Have you got a better idea?"

"No," Tiberius sighed. He slumped into his chair. "Only…" He shook his head. "Never mind. Go out and defend my planet, General."

Buren nodded and headed for the exit. But before he left, Tiberius asked, "Buren?"

The general turned around. "Aren't you afraid?"

"Terrified." Buren smiled. "Is that all, Governor?"

"Yes," Tiberius said, as his mind turned to the future. Of aliens that had never come. Of Rogue Traders who had tipped off his world. Of Tomina, and the loss of men and material that was going on over a thousand light years away. Of his future, and his fear. "I suppose it is."


	5. Epilogue

.

 **Warhammer 40,000: Chains of Fear**

 **Epilogue**

Tomina was burning.

Like the hydra borne upon their shoulder-pads, the Chaos Marines struck from all directions. Like the hydra, they tore into their foes, fangs unswayed, gaze unwavering. Like the hydra, if any one of their 'heads' fell, two more would take its place.

Maledic knew this. The reports given to him by his warriors had confirmed it as such, that the hydra was devouring its prey. So as he led his fellows into Humara, the forge world's capital, he was reminded of one other little detail. There was one core head to this hydra. For all the heads striking at this planet, his was the one that directed them. His was the one that had planned the assault. His was the one that would not grow back if chopped off. But of course, he told himself, that wouldn't happen. So many of Tomina's forces had departed for Starkan. They wouldn't arrive in time to save what hadn't been burnt or pillaged.

"Move into the city," he said into his helmet's vox. "Kill them all. Let them be corpses, like their emperor."

"For the emperor," came the response of his sub-commanders, causing Maledic to grin. 'For the emperor.' So common a battle cry for the soldiers of the corpse that resided on Terra. So much delight to be gained by the Alpha Legion as they mocked his acolytes, before sending their souls into the Warp. So much joy as he clove a guardsman in two with his armour's power claw, as he shredded the body of another with his bolter. They'd breached the city's walls an hour ago, and now, his forces cut their way through the streets, overcoming any firebase the Imperial Guard had set up. So much death, so much destruction.

He sighed, as he lobbed a final round into another follower of the Imperium. Lies and deception. The Alpha Legion excelled in these things. The plan to divert forces away to Starkan had worked so perfectly that he couldn't even find joy in this charade, this slaughter, rather than a battle. He-

He grunted, feeling residual heat of laser burn reach his face as the guardsman desperately tried to down him. He rose his bolter, ready to slay them, only to see their bodies torn apart by a surge of lightning. He smiled. Maybe there _was_ joy to be found in seeing the human body be revealed in all its disgusting glory, before their entrails were scattered to the four winds. Tomina had little remaining native life, but he'd heard of the carrion eaters called diglipurs that prowled its cities. Maybe they'd at least get something out of all this.

 _You don't seem very enthused._

The words were sent straight into his mind. He remained in place, even as the Chaos Space Marines of the Alpha Legion drove forward into Humara. He watched as Sorcerer Ramnagar walked over towards him. Shorter, thinner, louder, boisterous. Not a usual combination, but the Alpha Legion had never conformed to the expectations of the Imperium. They weren't about to do so now.

"Are you bothered?" his friend asked.

Maledic shrugged, his suit's armour moving like a poorly maintained machine. "I can't complain."

"I'd think we'd rejoice."

"Rejoice once Tomina burns, and we depart this rock. Until then, we fight."

"But you're not fighting. We're talking."

"No," Maledic said. He smiled. "Why fight once I've already won the battle?"

" _I_ won it," Ramnagar answered.

 _Yes,_ Maledic reflected. _I suppose you did._ He gestured to his subordinate as they walked through the ruins of the capital. Fires raged around them, rubble covered the bodies of the fallen. He watched as his warriors granted the Emperor's lackeys the mercy of a quick death. Not what the Dark Eldar would have done, he reflected. If they'd even come at all.

"I suppose you deserve some credit," the Chaos lord said. " _Pilgrim's Pride_ , Rogue Traders…Starkan bought it as surely as they listen to their priesthood's lies."

"The Imperium fears the threats of within, without, and beyond," Ramnagar said. "They have good reason to fear those who dwell in the twilight between realms. Fear the alien, is that not what their priesthood orders? They move the chains, we follow, and we remain puppet masters."

Maledic nodded. It had worked perfectly. Starkan had believed that the Dark Eldar were coming. Had summoned reinforcements in the belief that they could head off the aliens when they arrived, getting a quick victory. Tomina itself had provided reinforcements, and the Alpha Legion had swept in for the kill. Some of their fellow legions might scoff at their use of deception. But let them, Maledic had decided. They were here. Their brethren who called the Eye of Terror home were not.

"Resistance is crushed," came the voice of one of his brothers over the vox. "The palace is taken."

"So soon?" Maledic asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "Well, no matter. To the victor go the spoils." He looked at Ramnagar. "I remember my promise to you, that I'd ensure you'd get your share of the spoils."

Ramnagar smiled, baring his teeth like a hungry demon. "You wouldn't betray me, would you?"

"The hydra doesn't devour its own heads."

"No," Ramnagar said. "It doesn't."

Was it a threat, Maledic wondered? Well, if so, what of it? He was the leader of this warband. He was the head of the hydra. He'd taken Tomina, and it was his name that the Imperium would curse, when…or rather _if_ , they ever discovered it.

But no matter. He had a planet to loot. To plunger, to pillage, to pursue. All made possible by the chains of the Imperium's war machine – the same war machine they now called their own. All made possible by the chains of fear worn by every Imperial subject.

For after all, he reflected, did not all fear the alien?

 **The End**

* * *

 _A/N_

 _So, that's that. One of the reviewers hit on the overall theme of the story, but the proof is in the pudding I guess in regards to final verdicts._

 _So, far as shameless plugs go, I do have one other_ Warhammer 40,000 _story on my 'to write' list, namely_ Islands in a Sea of Stars _, which is based on pre-Dark Age of Technology space colonization. But, that's a way away. Right now, writing a_ My Little Pony _story titled_ Sunset's Shimmer _. And if you think it's a big leap to jump from the 41st millennium to Equestria, eh, well, that's how I roll. The Emperor protects._


End file.
